


Trapped in Winter

by littleblackbow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/pseuds/littleblackbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Ron have an argument. When Ron goes to storm out of the room, he's frozen in time, and when Harry touches him to see what's the matter, they're both transported to a snowy winter wonderland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped in Winter

"I'm not changing my mind on this one, Ron. You're not going!" Harry shuffled a few papers around and tossed them into his "deal with later" box. "It's too dangerous, and you're not ready for it."

Ron threw his broomstick on the floor and stormed up to Harry's desk. Ever since Harry took that stupid promotion with his stupid desk job, he'd been giving Ron all of these stupid little easy piddly cases, and kept the high-profile, dangerous ones for more famous and well-established aurors. Hermione had quickly got herself out of that predicament by taking on the position of Overseer of "Magical items that must not fall into the wrong hands," as Harry called it. She never would have stood for Harry holding Ron back because something was "too dangerous."

"Give me one reason I'm not qualified for this, Harry. One reason."

"You don't know the terrain," Harry said, sitting back calmly at his desk. "And you're afraid of spiders, and where they're going it will be spider-infested."

Ron was indignant. "That is _not_ fair, Harry Potter, and you know it. My phobia can be controlled in times of need as you more than anyone knows, and nobody knows the terrain because it's been completely changed by the Dark Wizards who have taken over the place. Don't give me any of that crap!" He had decided even before he came into Harry's office that he would go along with the others on the case whether he got permission or not.

They were going to root out a coven of witches and dark wizards who had been gathering strength down near the southern coast of Wales. It ought to be a simple mission with minimal losses. Nothing like the Battle of Hogwarts or the Skirmish at Cantebury that happened two years later when the remaining Death Eaters decided to make a last stand.

This was a much smaller group, and although they might suffer some injuries or deaths, it wouldn't be nearly as bad. And Ron was ready for it. He wanted – he _needed_ to go out on a mission without Harry or Hermione in order to prove to himself that he could do it.

Besides, these past couple of years, after Harry married Ginny, he hadn't felt much like doing _anything_.

"You're not going, and if I do find out you've gone with them, I'll have you up before the Wizengamot for insubordination and endangering a mission. Do I make myself clear?" Harry said, rising from his chair.

Ron could never argue fairly into those emerald eyes. _Damn him._

"Crystal," Ron growled. "It's that I can't rely on you to be fair with me. I thought we were friends, Harry. Now…" The pain was evident in his face and he knew it. He turned away from Harry in a pathetic attempt to hide how hurt he was at what he was about to say. "Just leave me alone. I don't want to have anything to do with you again. Mr. Potter."

It was a pity Ron didn't turn back to face Harry, for he might have seen the hurt and shock on his best friend's face, as well.

As Ron headed for the door, he grabbed his broomstick off the floor and intentionally and with more force than he'd been aware of, knocked their auror graduation photograph of the two of them laughing and smiling, off the wall.

The problem with dramatic gestures such as that, though, is that once one does such a thing, one must successfully storm out of the room and slam the door in order for it to be fully effective. When Ron found himself trapped – frozen in the door of Harry's office, he realized that the whole scene would end up just making him appear to be more of a buffoon than he already felt he was.

"What are you doing, Ronald Weasley?!" Harry rushed over to the broken picture frame and carefully removed the photograph from the debris. "That was my favorite photo!" He looked up and saw that Ron was still in the doorway, but there was something wrong. "Ron? Was there something else you wanted?"

There was no answer. He couldn't even see Ron _breathing_. His heart began to race. "Ron? Answer me!" Harry went over to his best friend and touched him on the shoulder, intending to spin him around and see what was the matter.

In an instant, the two of them were whisked away. It felt something like using a portkey, only more forceful, and more confining. It was even difficult to breathe while they were traveling.

Suddenly, the two were dropped in the middle of a large field of snow. Harry fell on Ron, and instinctively grabbed onto him for stability. "Are you alright?" he asked, working his way up his friend's body until they were face-to-face.

Ron let out a breath in a gasp, and coughed for a moment as fresh, cold air filled his lungs again. "Fine, Okay," he coughed. The two righted themselves, and stood for a moment, surveying their surroundings. Ron pulled out his wand to cast a warming charm, but it didn't work. "Harry…"

"It's cold. I wonder what happened."

"Harry, um, there's something wrong."

"Might be Canada, but how could we travel that far without—"

"HARRY! Magic isn't working here," Ron said, turning Harry to face him. "We've got to find shelter."

Harry looked up into Ron's face. It took a moment before he fully realized the weight of their situation. "Let's head for that tree line. I think I see a shack near the woods."

As they trudged toward the shack in the thick, dry snow, it began to snow again. At first, it was just a flurry, but then it got heavier and heavier until it was almost impossible to see. The boys could feel their feet numbing, and they tucked their hands into their robes for warmth.

When they finally got to the shack, they found it locked. Harry tried casting "alohamora," but his magic wasn't working, either. Eventually, they relied on brute strength, and broke the latch as they busted in the door.

It was a small, one-room cottage, hardly even big enough for one person, let alone two. There was one fireplace, a shelf with some very old tins of what seemed to be vegetables and possibly meats (although no opener, Harry noted), a rifle and a box of ammunition, and a smallish pile of wood. There was also an ominous chest of drawers, but neither man wanted to open _that_ unless they absolutely had to.

And in the corner, there was what would loosely be considered a bed. It was an old lumpy mattress that had been pushed into the corner near the fireplace, with a few blankets and some furs thrown on top of it.

"It's better than being out there," Ron said as they surveyed their new shelter. "I just hope whoever owns this place doesn't come back anytime soon. Wouldn't like to face whatever is used to being on the other end of that contraption." He nodded toward the rifle.

Harry agreed that it was probably a bad idea to stay here too long. He tried to set up a ward, but his magic failed him again. "I think we're stuck without any magic at all," he said, eyeing the fireplace. "We should look for some matches so we can start a fire. It's already freezing in here, and I don't expect it will get any better as the storm settles in."

"How do you know it's going to last?" Ron asked. He went to the shelf and started moving the tins about, looking for anything that might be considered a "match."

"Did you see how dark the clouds were? They were as black as a wizard's robes. I wouldn't be surprised if we were in for a heavy storm that lasted through the night – possibly longer." Harry looked skeptical as Ron rifled through the things on the shelves. "Do you even know what you're looking for?" He asked.

Ron slammed a tin of peas on the shelf, upsetting a cloud of dust. "Is it my fault I've never done things the Muggle way? No, I don't know what it is, and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that smug laugh to yourself for once." He plopped himself down on the bed, upsetting another dustcloud.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Ron. Stop being so sensitive to these things." Harry went over and found a book of matches, and held them up to Ron. "Anyone could have missed this, and it looks nothing like anything that might start a fire, so I'm not blaming you."

Harry knelt and crumpled up some of the papers that were lining the shelves. He then put a couple of sticks on the fire, and one log. "Besides," he said as he struck a match, "now you know how I felt when you were constantly looking at me funny for not knowing about Wizarding things. How was I to know? How were you to know about Muggle things?" It took Harry three matches to get the fire started, and once the twigs caught, he was careful to pull off some bark to burn to keep it going.

Ron was mesmerized by the act of building a fire by hand without using magic. As Harry blew gently on the new flames, he found himself kneeling down beside his friend, watching his lips purse, and then looking over to the effect it had on the fire. "That's brilliant," he said in a whisper. "How did you… nevermind. It's pretty amazing, though."

"Thanks, I'm surprised I remembered how to do it. My aunt and uncle didn't have fires very often because they said it would dirty-up the house, but since I did all of the cleaning, I don't know why they were complaining so much." Harry leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs out so that his feet were closer to the fire.

The cottage was getting warmer, but Ron's feet, too, were frozen from the walk through the snow. He stretched out beside Harry, taking off his boots and socks. "My feet are bigger than yours," he said as he put his feet up next to Harry's.

"Are you trying to tell me I'm small?"

"No, just making an observation." He crossed one of his legs over one of Harry's so that their feet alternated. Harry's, Ron's, Harry's, Ron's.

"What are we going to do, Ron?" Harry asked, sitting up. He pulled his feet back and tucked them under his body, then held his hands out toward the fire.

The magic of that moment was broken, and Ron felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart with a needle again. Looking over at Harry, though, he noticed that his friend's cheeks were red. "I don't know. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We've got to find a way back by then. But we don't even know where we are." He rolled over and looked around the room again. "Do you suppose any of those tins have edible food in them? They look older than Hogwarts."

Harry turned to look. "I think they're probably from around the time of the first fall of Voldemort. Still, we may not have much of a choice by morning. I'm going to take that tin cup and get some snow so we can at least have some water to drink."

"Oh, wait," Ron said, "I think there was a bucket over there, too."

There was no way he could say it, but Ron was actually enjoying this forced time alone with Harry. It had been so long since the two of them could have any sort of conversation that wasn't interrupted by a wife, or sibling, or work, or any number of other distractions. The only problem was that his old obsession seemed to be coming back to haunt him. Any time spent alone with Harry was time thinking about how much he wanted to just take that young man into his arms and hold him, nuzzle up into his neck, and breathe in every bit of his scent. And then—

He shook the thoughts out of his head. It would do him no good at all if he started thinking on that now.

When Harry came back inside with a bucketful of snow, he pushed himself up again and took the bucket, setting it on the hearth.

"It's terrible out there," Harry said, shaking the snow off of him. "I went around to the back of this place to see if there was anything we'd missed. It's just a forest straight behind, and this wasteland of snow in front. There's a wood pile, but that's not going to help us get home."

"And there's no telling where we are, either," Ron offered. The snow had already begun to melt from the warmth of the fire. "I think your guess of Canada isn't too far off, though. Where else can you find so much snow in one place? Maybe Siberia."

"I'd rather be in Canada."

"Do you reckon we'll see a moose in the forest?"

Harry laughed. "I don't know, Ron. Do you know any moose calls?"

~~oooOOOooo~~

They had decided to take turns sleeping on the mattress. The first night Ron would have the "bed," and the second night, it would be Harry's turn – if it came to a second night. The only problem was that when Ron woke up in the middle of the night, he found Harry sitting in front of the fire, asleep with his head on his knees. The fire was still crackling, although it wasn't burning nearly as brightly as it had been before.

Ron put another log on the fire, waking Harry. "Go take the bed," he said, poking the fire with a stick. The old log split and broke into two parts, sending up a shower of sparks.

"I'm alright," Harry said, huddling into himself a little tighter.

"No, you're not. Now, let's get this fire going again, and we'll share the bloody bed, you berk."

Harry just sat there huddled up for a few moments, staring into the fire. It was as if he was considering Ron's words, trying to decide how to react to what he'd just heard. "Alright," he said finally. Harry put three more logs on the fire, arranging them so that they would burn slowly and steadily until morning. Ron watched as he worked, and then settled himself into the bed with his back against the wall. After poking a little more at the fire, Harry settled into the bed, facing the room. It was much warmer in the room, and Ron was sure it wasn't just the stoking of the fire. Harry was still shivering. Ron wrapped his arms around his friend's shoulders.

"Ron, I'm—"

"Shut it. You're cold, I'm warm. Makes sense. Now go to sleep."

~~oooOOOooo~~

The next morning, Ron woke to find himself alone in the bed. The bucket of snow water had been refilled, and a fresh batch of water had melted already. Harry was in the other corner, piling cold, snowy wood up onto the indoor stack. "Good morning," he said in a scratchy voice.

Ron rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and pushed himself up in the bed. The cottage was a lot warmer than it had been the night before, probably due to the fact that Harry had apparently stoked the fire and thrown on at least two or three more logs.

From the look of things, he had also ransacked the place in order to find a tin opener. "Still no way of getting those tins open?" He asked, nodding toward the shelves.

Harry set a few logs near the fire to dry. He dipped the tin cup into the bucket and offered the water to Ron. "It looks like there's a break in the storm, so I thought I might take the rifle out and see about getting us a rabbit or something."

"Want help? I mean, would you like me to go with you? I'm not sure how to use that contraption, but I could—"

"No, one of us should stay here to keep the fire going and just in case someone comes by. I don't want to miss our opportunity to get some help. I'll just go out a few hundred meters into the forest. Shouldn't take too long," Harry said. He went over and checked the rifle to make sure it wasn't completely rusted out, then took the box of ammunition and put that into his pocket.

"Well, take my robe with you, then," Ron said. He shrugged out of his auror's robes so he was just wearing his tight orange sweater and jeans. "Better to double up if you're going to be out there."

"Ta mate." Harry put on the robes that were obviously at least two sizes too big for him, tucked the rifle under his arm, and headed out. Ron thought for a moment on how confident his friend was in that, just going out and doing what had to be done. Just as he had done when it came to making the fire. Just as he'd always done in school when fighting the troll or going up against a basilisk, or fighting the darkest wizard in a century.

Ron decided to make himself somewhat useful and started the search for the tin opener again. It was a pity he didn't actually know what a tin opener looked like.

~~oooOOOooo~~

There was no clock in the cottage, and Ron wasn't in a habit of wearing a watch, but he could tell that at least an hour had passed since Harry went out hunting. To make matters worse, the break in the storm was over and it seemed as if the blizzard had started again.

All sorts of worst-case scenarios went coursing through Ron's mind as he paced around the little shack. He saw Harry lost in the forest, he saw Harry face-down frozen in the snow, he saw Harry lost in the forest, face-down in the snow being eaten by wolves and moose. "I'm going to go mental if I stay in here," he said to himself, pulling one of the blankets off the bed. He wrapped himself up in it and headed out to find his mate.

There had been plenty of snowfall since Harry had left, but at least there was no wind, and his tracks hadn't been completely covered yet. The main problem was the cold. It was bitterly cold out and Ron didn't have his robe. He went as quickly as he could, following the footsteps, trying to stay warm by keeping mobile.

This really seemed to be a wasteland. Although he could hear animals in the distance, the only other real sound he heard was the falling of the snow. There were no Muggle machines, no magical artifacts, no wires, no cars, and no people. In a way, it was nice. The more Ron thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being alone in this Robinson Crusoe scenario with Harry.

That is, if he could find Harry.

Alive and well. And not eaten by wolves.

His mind panicked, and he started moving faster.

Finally, after several minutes following the footsteps (which went far more than a few hundred meters into the forest, mind you – he'd have that out with him later), he found Harry. He was still trudging through the snow wearing both robes, still had the rifle in his hand, and was dragging two rabbits along in his other hand, leaving a trail of blood on the white snow. Harry wasn't moving very fast, though, and as Ron got closer to him, he saw that his friends hands, ears, and cheeks were bright red, and his lips were an unhealthy blue color.

"Merlin, Harry, you look—" He stopped himself. Rushing up to his friend, Ron wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, then took the rifle and rabbits from him. "Tuck your hands under your arms, Harry," he ordered, and started urging him onward at a faster pace.

Harry passed out not a hundred meters from the cottage. Ron propped the rifle upright in the snow so he could easily find it again, and carried Harry and the rabbits with him back to their shelter.

~~oooOOOooo~~

"Sit still and let me do this, Harry," Ron said softly as he slowly petted Harry's hand from wrist to fingertips

"What—"

"You passed out and you're badly frostbitten. I've got to get warm blood flowing back into your hands and feet, and this is the best way."

Harry looked down to find that his feet were tucked under Ron's shirt, with his heels right above his groin. The shirt was stiff and sticky with blood from the rabbits. He looked over to the fireplace where the bucket was hanging on the hook over the fire, steaming with the smell of meat. The rifle was hanging back on the wall where it was originally found, and the robes were hanging on either side of the fireplace to dry out.

"You came out and found me?" Harry asked. His throat was dry and scratchy.

Ron took the cup of water and held it up to Harry's mouth for him to drink. "Maybe now you'll realize I'm not completely useless when I'm out on a mission."

"I never said you were useless. Never thought it, Ron. I just—"

"Why wouldn't you let me go, then?"

Harry sat in silence. He looked over toward the fire again to avoid Ron's gaze.

"Nevermind, have it your way. If you can't treat me fairly at work, though, I probably ought to transfer to another department."

Harry looked shocked. "No, please, Ron, I need—" Harry stared into Ron's eyes for a moment and then looked away.

"Finish your sentences! I can't guess what you're thinking. I'm not a bloody legillimens, and I'm not good at reading people, Harry!" He hadn't intended to shout, but sometimes it seemed like that's all that would get through to him.

"Fine! I didn't want you to go out on that _particular_ mission because I was terrified of losing you. It was incredibly dangerous, and if anything had happened to you out there, I wouldn't be able to live with myself! There, are you satisfied now? I need you and I can't send you out on a mission where you might not come back!" Harry pulled his hands and feet away from Ron and scooted back further on the bed.

That was not what Ron had expected to hear at all. He sat back on his heels and just stared at Harry for a few moments. "You're afraid I'll die out there?" he asked softly.

Harry just looked away. "I know it's unprofessional of me."

Ron stood, fuming. "You're a bloody idiot sometimes, you know that? A complete and utter bloody idiot! All you had to do was tell me this, and it's ridiculous to think anyway, and what do you think my training was for? Do you think I'd just let anyone curse me like that with no warning, and—" Ron took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair, growling out as he ruffled it. "We'll talk about this later. I… I can't believe you sometimes, you know that, Harry Potter?"

"What? What do you want from me?"

"Next time, I want you to tell me the truth – be perfectly honest with me, and just come out and tell me your reasons. Here I was, thinking you thought me incompetent, and all along you were just afraid for my safety? That's why you've been sending out the most experienced Aurors and keeping me back? It isn't fair to anyone Harry, I thought you of all people would know—"

"I know, alright!?" Harry stood to be on the same level as Ron but found his footing to be unsure. He went to brace himself against the mantle for support, but Ron was there at his side, holding him up in an instant. "I know," he said in a much lower, pained voice. "Don't think I don't know it wasn't fair. It's just that of all the people in the world, you're the only one I could never stand to lose," he choked out.

"What about Ginny?"

Harry looked away and sighed. "We were going to wait until after the holidays to tell everyone." Ron settled Harry back down on the bed and knelt before him with his hands on Harry's knees. "Nothing's been right for ages, Ron. Everything felt so rehearsed and so bloody phony. It was as if—" he looked up into Ron's face and swallowed hard.

"Go on," Ron said.

"As if we'd all mucked it all up way back then. After the battle, after everything was over. We'd all fought together, and everything just sort of fell into whatever it was we had. You and Hermione first and then… Well, what was I supposed to do after that?"

Ron nodded. He had thought the same thing.

"And then after you two broke up, well, I was already married. I asked Hermione why you two got married if you were just going to divorce a year later, and all she said was that back then you were in love with your best friend. I guess I should have known then that I wasn't your best mate, but—"

What could he say to that? Harry had got it all wrong, and yet there was no way Ron could correct him, was there? Ron sat back on his heels again, then got up and poked at the rabbit in the pot with a stick. "No, you're wrong. I mean, I think you're wrong. I don't know. Maybe you understand more than you're letting on, or maybe what she said was… What I mean to say is that she wasn't talking about herself." He turned the two pieces of meat over and then set the stick back on the mantle.

He looked over at Harry, who was just sitting there with a furrowed brow, as if he was trying to puzzle it all out. "Oh, you're not going to make me just come out and say it, are you? Merlin, Harry, you're so horrible sometimes, you know that? Fine! Yeah, she was talking about you."

Harry's eyes flashed as if he suddenly realized what Ron was saying. He got up from the bed again and took a deep breath. "I had to do something about it," Ron explained, "and marrying her seemed to be the—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Ron found himself with an armful of best friend. Harry practically launched himself at Ron, stumbling into him while grabbing the man around the waist. "You'd better not be lying, Ronald Weasley," he said.

Ron leaned back against the wall, holding Harry up around the shoulders. "Wouldn't lie to you. I'm a terrible liar, and you'd see right through it anyway."

Harry buried his face in Ron's neck. "Good. 'Cause it seems I married Gin for the same reason. Was in love with my best friend, and I had to do something, right?"

"Whoa, no kidding?"

"Yeah, no kidding. So, erm, what should we –" Harry looked up into Ron's eyes and seemed to lose his train of thought.

"You know, you really do have a terrible habit of not finishing your sentences," Ron said. He brought one hand up to rest on Harry's Jaw. "We'll have to do something about—"

Before he could finish, he leaned down and captured Harry's mouth in a kiss. Both of them had dry, chapped lips from the cold, and they hadn't brushed their teeth in two days, but it was still the sweetest thing they'd ever tasted.

"We'd better stop," Harry said after a couple of minutes of snogging. "I think we should eat and then—" He kissed Ron again. "And then we should maybe try to find the—" Ron kissed him, holding his face in both of his hands.

"I looked for it, but didn't know what it looked like," Ron mumbled into Harry's mouth. "Meat's probably done and…" They'd been moving steadily toward the bed without realizing it, and finally Harry fell down onto the mattress. "Yeah, meat's probably done."

"Doesn't it need to cool a bit before we eat?" Harry said, running his hands down Ron's chest to the bulge in front of his trousers.

Ron leaned down and kissed Harry. "Brilliant," he said.

In a flash, he'd gone and taken the pail of rabbit meat off the fire, tossed another log onto the fire, and was back laying in bed with Harry again.

~~oooOOOooo~~

Hermione set the snow globe down on her desk.

"Why did you make me see this?" Ginny asked, staring down at her trembling fists.

"Because you had to," Hermione said. She put her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "I knew from the start, of course, and I thought you did, too."

Ginny looked as if she was about to cry. "I did, of course, but I thought that maybe the idea of—"

"Ideas don't make a very good foundation, Ginny."

"I know," she said. Ginny gathered herself together and took a deep breath, then straightened out her robes. "So, how long are you going to keep them in there?"

Hermione looked down at her magical artifact. "Boxing Day, I think. They ought to be alright. There's a tin opener in that chest of drawers, as well as a tin of biscuits." She shook the globe to create another night of "blizzard" and cast a protective spell on it. "Besides, they deserve to be punished for being so heartless and stupid. And I think explaining to Molly why they missed Christmas is punishment enough."

~~oooOOOooo~~

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Harry mumbled sleepily into his best mate's neck.

Ron woke to find himself laying starkers with Harry's nude body stretched out on top of him. He smiled and then opened his eyes. "Happy Christmas."

The feeling of having this body pressed against his own was more amazing than Ron could have possibly imagined. Memories of the night before when they'd touched and fumbled and tried to figure out how this whole "gay sex" thing worked brought a goofy grin to his face and seemed to push all the blood back down into his cock again.

It was a good thing Harry was in a similar state.

"I want to suck on your prick for breakfast," Ron said in a scratchy, sleepy voice.

Harry just laughed. "What? What kind of talk is that?"  
"Hey, I was trying to sweet talk you." Ron reached down and grabbed Harry's erection and started stroking. "Seems like it worked, didn't it?"

Harry reached down and started teasing Ron's. "Well, if you… do that… how can it… not work?" He said through heavy pants.

"Fuck. Harry, bloody hell." Ron shoved the covers off and spun around so that he could take Harry into his mouth. As soon as his mouth covered the top of Harry's cock, he felt his own erection being completely engulfed in a wet heat, as well. It had to have been the most brilliant and amazing feeling he'd ever felt. The way Harry was licking him with his tongue, and then sucking hard on the tip sent shivers all over his body.

Harry's cock was curved up, so when Ron used his tongue, it scraped harder along the tip. He reached up and massaged Harry's balls. How they had gone from arguing and all of that frustration between them to _this_ in the span of one day, he had no idea. This was so much better than before.

When Harry got his hips into the action and started seriously fucking Ron's face, he did the same.

"Brill- brilliant," he moaned, fully distracted now by the feeling of being inside Harry's mouth. Ron felt the heat pooling down in his stomach, and his muscles began to tighten. "Harry, I'm… God, Harry, let me pull out." Harry just sucked harder and took more of Ron in his mouth at the warning. Before Ron could do anything, he practically exploded, shooting right into Harry's mouth.

Harry pulled away, choking.

"You alright?" Ron asked, pushing himself up on the bed. One hand kept stroking Harry's cock while the other wiped some of the spunk off of Harry's face.

"That was vile. Not your fault, I know, but… definitely not very tasty."

Ron laughed. "No, I expect not. I've heard a bloke gets used to it, though." He turned around on the bed so that he was again laying next to Harry. He kept pulling on Harry's prick, rubbing his thumb up over the tip sometimes, and squeezing near the base. Ron kissed Harry and tasted some of his own semen. "Oh, that is bad. Sorry, mate,"

Harry leaned back and closed his eyes. "Oh, you're… you're more than making up for… Ron, do that harder… faster." The sensations were getting more intense with each stroke. And when Ron leaned down and licked, then nibbled on his nipple, Harry knew he was done for. He held Ron's head in place there as he came, shooting all over his own stomach and the side of Ron's face.

When he was completely spent, he let go.

"Was that getting back at me for coming in your mouth?" Ron asked, wiping his face off with his arm. "Bloody hell, this stuff really is nasty. Makes you wonder why girls seem to like it so much."

Harry curled up into Ron's arms again. "That's not our problem anymore, is it? Just think, we'll never have to deal with all of those female issues again."

A goofy grin came across Ron's face. "Oh, you mean like the mood swings?"

"And times of the month."

"Oh, yeah, and hogging the bathroom and preening like a peacock." Ron chuckled.

Harry laughed. "And … and…" He seemed to get lost in Ron's eyes again. "I love you, Ron."

Ron flushed a deep red all the way to his ears. "I—yeah, me too. Love you too, Harry."

"Didn't get you a Christmas present this year. I think Gin got you something and was going to put our names on it, but I couldn't think of what to get for you."

"Oh, yeah, that's okay, Harry. Don't really need anything anyway," he said sitting up. "I guess this – whatever it is – is enough, yeah?"

Harry sat up and leaned over on his knees. "Yeah. I think whatever this is, it's finally enough."


End file.
